The Trial of Met. Tychikos: When the Church ‘Washes Her Hands’

In Constantinople, the appeal of Met. Tychikos was denied. Photo: UOJ

Many believe the trial of Christ is so archaic that it cannot be repeated in our time — we live in a different reality, a different system of values, where justice and truth supposedly have more of a right to exist than 2,000 years ago. However, the entire history of the Church shows that the condemnation of the Savior is not an archaic story, but an archetypal one, which repeats itself from age to age.

Formally, Christ was condemned by Roman authorities in the person of Pontius Pilate, who found no fault in Him but yielded to pressure from the Pharisees and ordered the Galilean to be crucified — after ceremonially washing his hands. Many rulers followed Pilate’s example, turning a blind eye to blatant injustice and untruth, thereby supporting the persecution of Christians, trials against them, and executions.

We do not in any way equate Metropolitan Tychikos with Christ, but there are too many parallels between his trial and that of Christ to ignore. At the same time, the trial of Metropolitan Tychikos has one striking difference — this time, it wasn’t Pilate who washed his hands, but the Church itself, in the person of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. Why do we believe so? Read below.

Part I. The Trial of Truth

"Justice is turned back, and righteousness stands afar off; for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter." (Isaiah 59:14)

In the spring of 2025, an event occurred in the life of the Church of Cyprus that, in the eyes of many clergy and laity, signaled a crisis in the Church — the suspension of Metropolitan Tychikos of Paphos from managing his diocese.

The decision made by the Holy Synod of the Church of Cyprus caused not only surprise but also serious protest among those who knew the archpastor personally — as a monk of rare purity, a man of prayer and gentleness, and a shepherd who managed to breathe new life into the Paphos Metropolis in a short time.

But above all, this case became a litmus test for the modern Church. It showed how easily the administrative machine can replace the living Body of Christ, how the Church can become an “organization,” how canons can be turned into tools of manipulation and political interest rather than instruments of truth.

The Beginning: Groundless Accusations 

Metropolitan Tychikos was suspended from diocesan leadership in May 2025. Officially: For “canonical violations” and poor management. In reality: For reasons so insignificant that the list of accusations reads like a document from the Pharisaical era, where the desire to condemn at any cost outweighed even the most basic concept of justice, and the letter of the law was used against its spirit.

He was charged with four "offenses":

1. Ordaining a priest who did not commemorate his ruling bishop (which occurred when the man was still a layman in Greece).
2. Refusing to marry a Protestant woman who had converted to Orthodoxy in the U.S. without sufficient catechism (and even then, not a refusal, just a request to meet her beforehand).
3. Consecrating a church in honor of an uncanonized ascetic (this was disproven by a video showing he dedicated it to St. Nektarios of Aegina).
4. Refusing to accept relics of the Apostle Paul, brought by a Catholic cardinal, and his general critical stance toward Roman Catholicism and ecumenism.

Upon closer inspection, none of these indicate violations — in fact, they demonstrate his faithfulness to Church tradition. Yet the charges were hastily brought before the Synod, reviewed, and approved in just three hours.

Procedural Violations and the Metropolitan’s Silence

According to the Charter of the Church of Cyprus, trials against bishops must involve defenders, access to case materials, and the right of appeal. None of this happened. The Synod acted hastily and behind closed doors, violating its own Statute, which, as Cypriot canonists said, was “trampled to show the unity of power.”

Metropolitan Tychikos chose not to publicly defend himself. He remained silent. Not because he had nothing to say, but because he understood the futility of words and the obviousness of the situation. His only call to supporters was for prayer — the most effective weapon against "the rulers of the darkness of this world."

His silence was a response to Pharisaic malice. Blessed Augustine, commenting on Christ’s silence, wrote:

“The silence of our Lord Jesus Christ was not an isolated act... Each time He did not respond to His accusers, it fulfilled the prophecy: Like a lamb before its shearers is silent.”

In this sense, Tychikos' silence was a challenge — not to people, but to the spirit of the world, which seeks to reduce the Church to a bureaucratic institution. His silence was not a defeat, but a form of preaching — when words can no longer help but only worsen the lie.

Still, he chose to submit an appeal to the Synod of the Ecumenical Patriarchate — the last “bastion of justice.” This is a normal and legal procedure used when local injustice threatens to harm the Church.

Appeal to the Phanar

When the case reached the Ecumenical Patriarchate, many hoped for a fair outcome. The appeal was accepted. The Patriarchate even summoned Metropolitan Tychikos to the Phanar for a personal hearing.

This decision was not easy. Three months passed after the appeal before the case moved. The synod members were divided — many supported Tychikos and believed his trial had been unjust. The final communiqué acknowledged “procedural violations” during the initial trial in Nicosia.

This phrase alone should have invalidated the entire Synod’s ruling, because a violation of the Statute (a document based on the Gospel and canons) makes a decision illegitimate.

But then came the blow — not only to Metropolitan Tychikos, but to church justice itself: the Ecumenical Patriarchate chose to affirm the Cypriot Synod’s decision, citing “the good of peace” and “Church unity,” and recommended Tychikos submit to the decision “for his own spiritual benefit.”

In other words: Yes, the trial was unjust, but we don’t want conflict — so we wash our hands.

Thus, the very institution of appeal became a symbol of the powerlessness of truth in the face of human malice.

Hidden Reasons

In Cyprus, it was known that there were deep disagreements between Archbishop Georgios and Metropolitan Tychikos — especially regarding the recognition of the 2016 Council of Crete and the autocephaly of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine (OCU). Tychikos refrained, considering the Ukrainian schism a politically, not theologically motivated issue.

The conflict escalated when the Archbishop insisted on receiving relics of the Apostle Paul from a Catholic cardinal. Tychikos refused, believing the ceremony could harm the faithful. From that moment, their relationship was essentially broken.

Gradually, personal hostility and ideological incompatibility turned into disciplinary retribution. The charges were simply a means of removing an inconvenient bishop.

The Faithful Respond

Among the clergy and laity of Paphos, Metropolitan Tychikos was deeply respected. He celebrated the Divine Liturgy almost daily, revitalized the metropolis, restored churches, launched catechism courses, and promoted local saints.

Despite being accused of poor management, financial reports tell a different story: in 2023, the diocese’s revenue more than doubled (116%), exceeding €1.1 million. In 2024, it surpassed €2 million. He restructured millions in non-performing loans inherited from previous administrations — including from Archbishop Georgios himself, who previously held the same position.

When his removal was announced, spontaneous protests erupted, letters were written, appeals made. One choir wrote: “The voice of truth was drowned out by the voice of fear.”

But none of this changed anything. Instead, it led many to say they would no longer attend church — believing there is no truth in it. Others spoke of stopping donations.

Who gained from this? No one — except perhaps the enemy of mankind.

Part II. When the Church “Washes Its Hands”

"For judgment is without mercy to the one who has shown no mercy." (James 2:13)

When the Phanar confirmed the Cypriot Synod’s decision—despite procedural violations—many saw it as a moment of bitter truth for the modern Orthodox world.

A Gospel Parallel: A Trial Without Judgment

The words of the Gospel writer Matthew about Pilate now sound eerily relevant:

“When Pilate saw that he could not prevail at all, but rather that a tumult was rising, he took water and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, ‘I am innocent of the blood of this Just Person.’” (Matt. 27:24)

Two thousand years ago, Pilate knew Jesus was innocent but bowed to pressure. Today, the Ecumenical Patriarchate acknowledged violations in Tychikos’ trial — but chose to preserve peace with those who trampled on justice.

This is not just diplomacy — it’s a theological catastrophe. For when the Church justifies injustice for the sake of "peace," it stops being the image of Christ’s truth.

“My peace I give to you, not as the world gives.” (John 14:27)

This raises the main question: what is more terrifying — to condemn the innocent or to justify falsehood for the sake of peace?

In the case of Tychikos, we see the latter. And it is precisely in this that the deep crisis of modern ecclesiastical consciousness lies.

An Appeal That Has Lost Its Meaning

In the Church’s canonical tradition, an appeal to the Ecumenical Throne is not just a legal procedure. It is rooted in the spirit of the Ecumenical Councils, where Constantinople was seen as the court of conscience for the entire Church. It was not supposed to be a body of power, but a body of truth — a place where even the lowest-ranking priest or bishop, unjustly condemned, could find protection.

And when this body says: “Yes, you were condemned unjustly, but everything will remain as it is for the sake of peace,” — it undermines the very foundation of its mission. Because the Church cannot affirm a lie, even for the sake of external calm. History teaches us that where peace becomes more important than truth, decay and problems begin.

This was the case in the trial of St. John Chrysostom — he was “condemned for the sake of peace,” to avoid unrest in Constantinople.

This was the case with St. Nektarios of Aegina, when the Patriarch of Alexandria, finding no guilt in him and yet believing slander, expelled the saint “for the sake of peace.” This case is especially paradoxical considering that Archbishop Georgios holds St. Nektarios in great reverence — yet behaves like his persecutor...

That is why we believe:

The Ecumenical Patriarchate, in its desire to preserve “unity,” has destroyed trust in the very institution of appeal.

For if an appeal does not protect the innocent, it becomes a formality — and then, in the minds of believers, the Church's image as a place of justice is shattered (as is now happening in the minds of many faithful in Greece and Cyprus).

When Administration Replaces Spirituality

In a theological sense, the tragedy of Metropolitan Tychikos' case is not only in human injustice, but in the fact that the Church has come to think in terms of administration, rather than as a spiritual institution.

A bishop, monk, and man of prayer who lives in obedience to Christ and the Gospel is not condemned for sin, but for “disloyalty to the structure.”

Thus, spiritual questions are replaced by administrative and political “interests,” and instead of the Gospel, we are offered “diplomacy.” It is clear: when the Church begins to be guided by the laws of this world, it ceases to be the Church and becomes merely an “institution” providing “ritual services.”

In this context, it becomes obvious why the accusations against Tychikos sounded so petty and formal. Not because someone sought the truth, but because they were looking for a pretext. And such tactics are nothing new.

Every time in Christian history that Church authority started living according to political interests, there were trials against the righteous:

Chrysostom, Athanasius the Great, Maximus the Confessor, Nectarios of Aegina.

Each became a witness to the truth, and each was condemned by the system – not by God. God vindicated them.

Pharisaism Disguised as Peace

The most frightening part of this story is not even the condemnation of one bishop, but how the Church justifies it “for the sake of peace.”

Because under the slogan of preserving unity, truth is betrayed. That’s exactly how the Pharisees justified the trial of Christ:

“It is better for one man to die for the people.” (John 11:50)

Today the same argument sounds slightly different:

“Better that one suffers, than there be conflict between Churches.”

And this logic is anti-Christian in its very essence.

Because the Church does not live for “peace,” but for Truth. The saints went to death and exile in order to remain faithful to this Truth and their conscience.

And when the Phanar says “for the sake of peace,” this is no longer the peace of the Gospel, but purely political.

This is how “Church peace” turns into a compromise with falsehood. For where there is no struggle for truth, there is no life in the Spirit.

A Sign of the Times

The figure of Metropolitan Tychikos goes beyond a personal story. He has already become a symbol of what happens when loyalty to the Church comes into conflict with administrative and political “expediency.”

This kind of clash is no accident — it is a sign of the times in which we live. The Church is once again passing through the temptation of power, trying to build its relationship with the world through diplomacy instead of the Gospel.

And every righteous person unjustly condemned becomes a reminder of the true nature of the Church — that it stands not on administrative decisions, but on the blood of martyrs and the truth of the Gospel.

Metropolitan Tychikos is by no means an opposition figure or a fighter for “something.” He is a man of prayer, who suffered for loyalty to the canons of the Church. He reminds us that true spiritual life begins not with submission to power, not with compromises of conscience, not with political or national interests, but with obedience to God.

And if we strip away all the outer layers, the essence of what is happening is simple:

The Church, in seeking “peace,” has condemned the truth.

But this very moment is also a chance for purification.

Because history shows: every time the Church made a mistake, God turned that mistake into a lesson.

That was the case with Chrysostom, who died in exile, yet whose icons are in nearly every church and whose books stand on the shelves of almost every Orthodox Christian.

That was the case with St. Nektarios, whom people cast out, but God glorified.

And so it will be with Metropolitan Tychikos, if he does not become embittered, but continues to pray for his persecutors.

We know for certain that while Church authorities speak the language of procedures, God speaks through the lives of people, turning them into “lives of the saints.”

And perhaps now, as people “wash their hands,” God once again shows that the Church is not an administrative structure, but the Body of Christ, where Truth is stronger than any “interest.”

Truth can be condemned — but not destroyed. And so the case of Metropolitan Tychikos is not over.

It continues in the conscience of everyone who believes that the Church is not a place where truth is punished — but a place where truth lives.

“And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:32)

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